


Jinx!

by wecara



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Aliens, American Sign Language, Fluff, Hunk (Voltron) is a Good Friend, M/M, Muteness, Team Bonding, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-25
Updated: 2018-09-25
Packaged: 2019-07-17 09:44:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,381
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16093094
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wecara/pseuds/wecara
Summary: After a mission to harvest a highly important (and perhaps dangerous, if it falls in the wrong hands) chemical goes awry, Lance’s terrific luck gets him stripped of one of his favorite parts of himself—his voice. It had always been his best weapon against boredom, fear, and tense atmospheres inside the castle, but now it’s just gone, with no clear solution or cure because of course he’s the first idiot in history to trip the botanical wire that got his speech taken away in the first place. At least he doesn’t carry all the responsibility, as somehow Mr. Perfectpants Keith has landed in the same shitty, voiceless boat.While the rest of team Voltron tries their best to grapple with the situation and find a cure, Keith and Lance are busy working to understand each other without their words.As it turns out, their words might have been the very things keeping them apart.





	Jinx!

“So,” Lance greets, ducking through the doorway for the slightly-too-small Chisairian throne room, his brown hair scraping the ceiling as he struggles to find a comfortable way to stand, “which of you ladies wants the first slice of this delectable beefcake?” He flexes his biceps for emphasis, and the tiny crowd of Chisarians twitter excitedly amongst themselves. Or, at least, he  _ thinks  _ they’re excited. The aliens’ various mouselike chirps are difficult to decipher. Thank God for the Chisairian Emperor’s fluency in the Common Speech, which the crew recently learned was the rest of the universe’s name for English.

“ _ Lance, _ ” Shiro reprimands, and Lance’s head snaps up quickly and crashes into the weird white stone ceiling of the castle. 

“Ow!” he whines, rubbing the sore spot on his head. Shiro continues scolding as if nothing happened—as if Lance hasn’t just sustained a possible  _ concussion _ —as the Chisairians at Lance’s feet let out another wave of (probably) concerned high pitched noise.

“We’re here to discuss important diplomatic trade agreements, not flirt.” he says, and Lance scowls.

“I know, I know, I was just having friendly conversation! You know, giving off a good impression to our allies, it’s important business for the mission!” he responds to Shiro’s unimpressed raised eyebrow. Lance is prevented from further defence when a tiny sound of someone clearing their throat echoes from the throne at the far end of the pristine room. 

“Welcome, paladins of Voltron. I must reiterate my peoples’ thanks for your heroic driving out of the Galra from our peaceful planet,” says a voice that reminds Lance of the munchkins from the old The Wizard of Oz VHS his sister had been obsessed with, repeating it over and over again for months. The flea-like drone of the fictional peoples’ voices had, after that point, become unforgettable. 

“There’s no need to thank us, we’re only doing our job,” Shiro responds humbly, his previous tone of disapproval molding into something regal and businesslike. The Emperor sitting atop the throne—made of the same odd white stone as the Chisairian castle—wears an elaborately decorated piece of red rectangular fabric that has been folded and tied in several different places to create a cozy yet breathable tunic that drapes across his small body with ease. He, along with the other Chisairians, has thick, bushy fur that obscures his eyes and tapers off at his hands and feet, which reveal skin that is sky blue and spotted with geometric patches of darker navy. His mouth is large, blue, and takes up much of his head, and just above it lies a twitching blue nose that barely pokes through the masses of silky latte colored fur. He nods and opens his hands out in welcome.

“What brings you to our planet, paladins? How may we assist you?” he asks. Pidge takes this as their cue to step forward, and a flash of jealousy whips through Lance’s mind as he notes that they’re just short enough to fit comfortably under the throne room roof without stooping. The green paladin rummages in their suit for a moment before withdrawing a portable device that displays a picture of shimmering pink mountains.

“I’m sure you’re aware of these piles of sparkly stuff just north of your castle, your Highness,” they say politely, bending over slightly to allow the Emperor a good look at the device’s picture. The fluffy Emperor nods knowingly.

“Yes, the Lightning Salts. Beyond the castle lies a vast desert of pink salts that are host to frequent and fearsome dry lightning storms that are so full of electric bolts that even at this distance they light up the night sky as if it were day. What might you need with such a dangerous element as that?” The Emperor sounds perplexed, and Pidge grins, placing the portable back in their suit and preparing for what Lance is sure will be an elaborate scientific rant. 

“Well, your Highness, sir, those ‘Lightning Salts’ as you call them are actually made of a chemical that is one of the highest electrical conductors in the universe, and once properly melted down into a glass, can be used for so many important things including weaponry, armor, even ammunition if you’re creative enough. And they’re more of a sand than a salt, as technically a compound doesn’t classify as a salt unless it’s made of two oppositely charged ions, creating a covalent bond, as we all know I’m sure. This chemical is far more complex in nature as it’s composed of several—” 

“What my friend Pidge is trying to say is that we need some of that salt to defeat the Galra. Would it be alright with your Highness if we took some? Please?” Hunk interjects, clumsily pushing towards the front of the room in order to spare the Emperor from death by Pidge. Lance winces in sympathy, however uncomfortable he might be, he’s only second tallest out of the group, with Hunk in first place. The bulky Samoan looks beyond squished in this microscopic throne room.

“Oh,” The Emperor says, then smiles happily, “of course, paladins, it would be the Chisairian peoples’ honor to assist your fight against the Galra in any way we can. Please be our guests and take as much Lightning Salt as you need.” Pidge and Hunk fistbump as Shiro steps forward to thank the Emperor, but before he can the small leader rises from his throne and gestures towards one of his servants off to the side of the room. “Before you go, however, I must warn you against the dry lightning storms I previously mentioned. Osdochen, fetch the storm logs.” The servant bows obediently and scurries from the room, only to emerge moments later carrying a thin piece of white stone about the size of Lance’s Mama’s ancient debit card that she used before digital methods of payment were implemented. 

The Emperor studies the messy blue ink across the tablet for a moment before frowning and returning his gaze to the paladins stories above him. 

“I apologize, paladins, but it appears it will not be safe for you to enter the desert through any usual means, you will have to take a path by foot through the Hushgroves in order to maintain safety.” he says, passing the tablet back to Osdochen, who takes it and bows before disappearing behind the door once again to return it. 

“Why can’t we fly in with our lions?” Keith asks. He’s leaning against the wall with his arms folded, and Lance wishes he’d had the idea first as the slouching stance removed a few inches from the red paladin’s height, thus allowing for comfortable standing. He isn’t going to head over now, however. That would look like he was copying Keith, which he obviously never does. 

“The storms are currently surrounding every possible entrance apart from the one by the Hushgroves, which is a forest northeast of here whose plant inhabitants are  _ extremely  _ sensitive to sound. The noise of your engines will certainly be enough to disturb them, and once disturbed the plants can grow hostile and even vicious and bloodthirsty. I have no doubts in your abilities to fight off a few angry plants, but an entire forest is a far graver matter.”

“I see,” Shiro says, tapping his chin in thought. “How long do these storms usually last, your Highness?” he asks. The Emperor’s somber frown deepens.

“If your idea is to wait them out until it is safe to take your ships, I regret to inform you that the storm cycles last for quintents on end without changing, and the storm logs predict that this one will soon engulf what little safe parts the Lightning Salts still harbor by the Hushgroves. It could be ages before another opening arises. I deeply apologize, but this is the only way.” 

Shiro nods, obviously troubled by the news, but his voice betrays nothing but steely determination. “Very well, we’ll make our way by foot. It shouldn’t be too much of a problem for us.”

“Excellent. Once again, I apologize deeply for this inconvenience. Akjari, please retrieve the Hushgrove map. Osdochen, have the tailors devise mufflers large enough for our esteemed guests.” After providing instructions for his servants, the Emperor turns once again to the paladins. “Paladins, allow me to instruct you on the ins and outs of the Hushgroves. I assure you that if you adhere to a few simple guidelines, you will be through the forest in less than a varga.”

“Perfect,” Shiro says with a confident smile. “Paladins, follow the Emperor.”

 

⃟⃟⃟

 

“Are we there yet?” Lance whines through his stuffy muffler—a piece of silky blue fabric similar to the Emperor’s tunic that he has tied around his mouth and nose. The Emperor instructed that they wear the things at all times in order to muffle any noises they might make while treading through the groves. Of course, this does little to stop Lance from cracking the occasional joke about them being like ninjas, or complaining about the heat and humidity in the forest. 

And boy is it muggy. The grove’s uppermost layer is a thick ceiling of large waxy leaves at least the size of two Hunks laying side-by-side. They overlap each other in perfect patchwork, casting an eerie green glow over the entirety of the forest while simultaneously protecting it from any noises from of the outside world and trapping every last bit of hot air like a greenhouse. Wandering down from the tall, radish-colored trunks of the trees with the giant leaves are snake like vines sporting gorgeous sapphire flowers, budding together in clusters like queen anne’s lace. As the vines get closer to the base of the trees they thicken into carpets of underbrush, mingling with various different alien mosses, ferns, and shrubs. They look harmless enough, even pretty if one is willing to ignore the heat long enough to admire them, but Lance knows that once provoked, some could become deadly.

“Lance, quiet,” Keith growls behind him. The path is thin, so they’ve had to walk single file. Obviously Shiro is in the lead, and Pidge had hopped in immediately behind him because they were carrying the bags they would use to harvest the salts and draw them back to the castle using crazy alien hovertechnology that Lance didn’t even try to understand. Hunk hadn’t wanted to be last because the “spooky woods might think I’m a delicious roast boy to devour,” and Lance being the generous, philanthropic, and dashing best friend he is, had lovingly proclaimed that he would personally watch Hunk’s back, leaving Keith to take up the rear. 

Under normal circumstances, Lance would be just fine sharing the space with Keith, no matter how temperamental he could be, but the Hushgroves present a unique challenge for both of the boys’ patience. Lance can’t keep himself from speaking every once in a while, the eerie silence of the groves feels imposing without even a rustle or a chirp of a bird—normal forest sounds that Lance had taken for granted. Keith can’t help but get frustrated every time Lance opens his mouth, irritated and on edge after the numerous threats of a grisly death from the Emperor. 

“Oh my god, Keith, lighten up!” Lance throws back, and finally sick of the muffler he yanks it down to hang loosely around his neck. “Ahh… that’s  _ so  _ much better.”

“ _ Lance! _ ” Keith hisses, “put the muffler back on, you  _ know  _ what the Emperor said—” 

“Yeah yeah, I heard him, and he said little noises were okay, such as quiet conversations. I think you just want an excuse to make everyone suffer in the same broody silence you seem to be eternally stuck in.” Lance stops and turns towards Keith as Shiro and Pidge, engrossed in a conversation about the map and the salts, continue to walk, oblivious to their little squabble. Hunk has slowed down, eyes darting between the pair with the map trekking forward and the pair in the rear gearing up for a fight. 

“Uh, guys?” he asks tentatively, but Lance and Keith ignore him, already in the heat of their hissed argument. 

“No, I just want to make sure your big mouth doesn’t jeopardize our mission or worse,  _ our lives.  _ You’re just being cocky and selfish as always, not giving two shits about the consequences of your actions or how they could impact others,” Keith responds, breathing heavily as his blood boils. He pulls the muffler down just a bit to let his nose out and breathes in some fresh air to calm himself, but it’s too late. He’s pissed.

“Me, selfish? Good one, Mr. rush-into-battle-without-consulting-the-team. You’re just the same if not worse about considering consequences!” Lance retorts incredulously. The two are now seething, hands clenched at their sides and teeth grinding together. Keith’s muffler has fallen past his chin and around his neck, but he either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care. 

“At least my tactics are efficient and skillful, you always end up clumsily plowing into someone or blowing something up that you shouldn’t!” Keith bites back, his voice raising into a full on shout. 

Pidge whirls around at the sound just in time to see Lance’s muscles tense in irritation. They’ve known him long enough to spot the way his shoulders rise and his head bends forward, his fingers clenching and unclenching: telltale signs that he’s about to blow. 

“Lance, don’t do anything stupid,” Pidge warns as they hurry over to Hunk, who looks anxious but relieved to see them. 

“Hey, thank quiznak you’re here, they’ve been arguing for like, five minutes, and I couldn’t call out to you guys because you were too far away and the groves might get angry and I—” Hunk’s words fall out in a whispered tumble, barely distinguishable behind his yellow muffler. Pidge puts their hand over the place they think his mouth to be in order to quiet him. 

“It’s okay, come on, let’s separate them so they don’t disrupt—”

“Too late!” Hunk cries, pointing at the cluster of blue flowers nearest to Lance, which are now opening and closing their petals erratically. Lance had noticed out of the corner of his eye the vines beginning to quiver after Keith’s last insult, but dismissed it as the wind. Hunk and Pidge’s small conversation must’ve been the straw that broke the camel’s back, because the pearly flowers suddenly stop their twitching and open fully, shooting out a glowing blue gas. It reminds Lance vaguely of pixie dust as it shimmers and catches the dappled light beneath the green canopy, but he has no time to admire it as he sees stupid Keith in the corner of his eye, cheeks flushed with anger, completely oblivious to the threat. 

About four things flicker through Lance’s mind in that moment. One, Keith is  _ so  _ easily frustrated. Lance didn’t even think they were doing that bad teamwork wise on this mission, they’d even been somewhat complementary of each other’s flying after landing on the Chisairian surface. Keith had scolded Lance for his stupid barrel roll on the way into the atmosphere, but grudgingly admitted that it was a little cool. Lance had told Keith that his mullet looked extra soft today, which got an eye roll and a half hearted hair flip from the red paladin. But the Hushgroves did something to them, and before he knew it the silly banter had gotten out of hand and both parties were hurt by it. 

Two, when Keith is mad, he’s  _ literally  _ blinded by rage. Lance has seen it firsthand in training sessions, how if a particularly persistent bot refuses to yield to his devastating swings, the raven haired boy’s ferocity goes up exponentially but his awareness drops to sub-zero. It makes him a fearsome competitor in one-on-one combat, but in battle situations he needs to remain calm or otherwise by covered by at least two other people. He lives by his heart, and in this case his heart is stubbornly refusing to see the potential threat of evil pixie dust gently floating his way. Easily dodgeable, but not now.

Three, the prettiest things in nature are often the most deadly. Lance remembers in first grade when they learned about the rainforests of Brazil and his teacher had shown the class a glossy photo of a gorgeous frog, its bright blue colors standing out against its black body like jewels embedded in obsidian. Lance had wanted to hold one and stare at it for hours until his teacher explained that the bright, beautiful colors were actually a warning to potential predators. Big and bold in the world of nature often means extremely poisonous, and the little frog’s markings were like a beacon screaming “don’t eat me, I’ll kill you in a painful and grisly manner!” The entrancing properties of this shimmering blue dust gives Lance a feeling of absolute dread. 

Four, a strange, primal part of him will  _ not  _ allow Keith or  _ anyone  _ on his team to be anywhere close to that dust, no matter how dire the consequences. Before he has time to ponder the complexities of such a feeling his feet are propelling him forward and his hands are extended and he’s pushing Keith with all his might out of the flowers’ direct line of fire. His palms make contact with the red paladin’s chest, knocking him to the ground beside another patch of flowers, irritated by the sound of his fall. 

Lance can’t see this, however. In fact, he can barely make out the shocked look on Keith’s pale face as he looks up at Lance from the ground through the blue sparkles clouding his vision. Lance is surprised to find no trace of worry in his heart, no thought that maybe he won’t come out of this mission entirely okay. All he feels is a pure feeling of  _ good  _ that Keith is safe. He regrets not being as nice as he could have immediately before this, just in case he never gets to talk to the red paladin again, but he’s beyond happy that Keith, while a little shaken, looks otherwise completely fine. 

Lance is content. 

Keith’s landing is jarring and sudden, he’s disoriented and it takes a moment to understand what just happened. He and Lance had been yelling, the squabble bordering on bitter, when suddenly Lance looked a little panicked and pushed him over, just as a blue flower bunch started spraying a… gas?

He looks up in confusion, a “what the fuck?!” on the tip of his tongue, to see Lance’s worried blue eyes trained on him as the dust engulfs him.  _ Oh no,  _ the Emperor’s various words of warning flash through his mind in that moment and  _ oh no oh no oh no  _ Lance is in trouble and he probably just saved Keith’s ass at the expense of his own. 

Keith scans his tanned brown face in alarm and is immediately caught further off guard as it betrays no hints of resentment from their previous argument, only a strange softness that almost looks like… relief? Understanding? Keith can’t be sure, but the look disappears quickly as Lance’s eyes flutter shut and his knees buckle. Pidge sprints forward to catch him, but they’re too late and he’s too big. His body hits the forest floor with a dull thud.

What was that idiot thinking?! Keith probably could’ve dodged it if he wasn’t so surprised by Lance’s sudden change of posture, going from seemingly ready to throw hands to protective and determined. 

Well, maybe he couldn’t have but it still didn’t make Lance’s stupid, reckless, self sacrificing move any more okay. Now the brunet is collapsed with his skin tinged sapphire blue and his throat convulsing as if he’s choking on something, and Keith can’t help but feel entirely at fault. The guilt and panic threatens to consume him whole, because  _ oh God what if Lance is dead what if the plants killed him and it’s all my fault _ and he lets out a strangled noise before his vision is clouded by an odd blue shimmer. 

He turns his head in horror and sees the flowers he’d landed next to finish spewing their glittering fog. The color is overwhelming, and he takes a few deep breaths before immediately regretting it as his throat closes and he feels like choking or throwing up or both. He throws one more desperate glance at Lance’s fallen body but his vision is consumed by blue.

In only a few moments the blue is replaced with black and he slips unwillingly into unconsciousness. 

 

⃟⃟⃟

 

Lance’s first thought as he wakes up is that it’s freezing. First the heat of the Hushgroves and now he feels like he’s been dunked in ice, his poor body can’t catch a break! He shivers and manages to peel his eyes open, his vision is blurry but he can make out the unmistakable metal walls of the castle’s healing pods flanking him left and right. He reaches out numbly, feeling sluggish and like he can’t quite hear properly. The senses are returning quickly, however, as the bluish glass doors open  with a soft hiss and he stumbles out onto the unforgiving castle floor. 

Groaning, he lifts his head up, but all he can hear is his own blood pounding through his ears. His temples are throbbing and he feels the immense pressure of a soon-to-be splitting headache. He takes a glance across the room but finds it empty save for Keith on his knees beside him. Why is  _ Keith  _ here? Of all people Lance expected to see upon his recovery, Keith was the last. Admittedly, the first was his Abuela, preferably with an armful of her famous ginger knots and her signature sweet, gentle smile. He doesn’t want to be pessimistic, but after the Chisairian Emperor’s rant of impending doom, he hadn’t honestly expected to emerge alive from the shimmering blue mist. 

Okay, so he isn’t dead, as far as he can tell. Though, it would be a unique sort of hell to be dropped off in an alternate universe right where he left off, only to have him live happily until some big reveal in which the Big Guy Upstairs says, “hey fucker, guess what, the real world had to carry on without you. Look at all the sadness you caused.” It’s a possibility he’s willing to look into, perhaps ask Slav more about those alternate realities he’s always raving about. Lance shakes his head, cursing himself. He’s getting distracted again—one of his worst habits, especially in the thick of a battle. 

Right. Keith. Trying to figure out why he’s here. Maybe he was worried about Lance, or he feels guilty for Lance taking the bullet for him.  _ Good,  _ Lance thinks,  _ let that dickbag worry.  _ It’s not like he’d been very nice to Lance immediately before those freaky pixie dust spewing flowers decided to attack him. He deserves to have a little bit of guilt plaguing that perfect little conscience of his. Keith lifts his head up and makes eye contact with Lance, and in that moment he realizes that the red paladin isn’t wearing his usual castle garb, instead donning one of the suits they’re supposed to wear inside the healing pods.

Keith barely managed to catch himself once he fell out of the pod, and heard Lance clumsily tumble from the one directly next to him just a few moments after. Relief floods through him as he notes that the brunet looks exhausted but otherwise unharmed, and this revelation carries with it the reassurance that they both made it out, along with the rest of his teammates. They’re okay. They’re tired and fucking  _ freezing  _ and well on their way to an awful migraine, but okay. 

Well, hopefully. Keith can’t be sure, what with Lance now looking at him as if he’s sprouted a second head. 

“What are you looking at?”

“What’s with the getup?” 

Keith and Lance say at the same time. Or rather, they try to, but neither voice makes a sound. Lance frowns and opens his mouth again to repeat himself, but once again, no sound comes out. 

Just then, the infirmary doors fly open and Allura, closely followed by Coran and the other paladins, comes rushing in. She’s dressed in a lavender dress made of soft-looking material that Lance has never seen before, and Pidge is rubbing their eyes underneath their glasses, barefoot and donning a Garrison tee shirt that looks to be a few sizes too big. Hunk wears his favorite silk pajamas that he bought after finding a space mall version of Old Navy, and his hair is messily sticking out in all directions without his signature headband. Shiro looks like 100% Daddy Material (more so than usual) in a loose black tank top and grey sweats. 

_ So that’s why no one was here when he woke up _ , Lance thinks, they were all asleep. He’s a little touched that they all seem to have sprinted straight from bed to meet him. Allura must’ve set an alarm that would alert the castle once he woke up.

“Lance, Keith, you’re awake,” the princess says. Ah, so Keith  _ had  _ been inside one of the pods. He must’ve gotten hurt sometime after Lance fell unconscious. A flash of guilt crosses his mind as he worries how the team might’ve dealt with transporting him, unconscious, through the Hushgroves. Lance hopes they just left him, got the salts, and picked him up on the way back. That would be the safest way. 

“How are you feeling?” Allura asks as Shiro goes to help Keith to his feet, while Hunk and Pidge throw Lance’s arms around their shoulders to support his weight. 

_ Fine,  _ Lance tries to say, but his voice shows no signs of returning. He doesn’t remember any sort of voice loss from his last trip inside the good ol’ healing pods, but maybe it’s different since the injuries he sustained are less of cuts and scrapes and more of sparkly dust particles infiltrating his lungs? Allura will know, this can’t be a permanent ailment, the fancy Altean tech is too good not to cure something as silly as a temporary loss of speech. 

“What was that?” Allura asks, and Lance coughs to clear his pipes. He  _ feels  _ the motion in his throat, but strangely, not even a whisper erupts from his lips. Okay, this is weird. Losing your voice is one thing, but being unable to make any noise at all? Lance experimentally snaps his fingers which are clinging to Hunk’s sturdy shoulder, and yep, those make noise, so why not anything else?

“Are you unable to speak?” Shiro asks, the question directed at Keith who looks very much like he is on the verge of a frustrated breakdown. His grey-violet eyes flash with frustration and he’s opening and closing his mouth like a fish. 

“Allura, is this like, normal for the healing pods?” Hunk asks from Lance’s side, and in that moment he’s so grateful for the big, strong Samoan’s miraculous mind reading powers he could kiss him on his sweet brown lips. 

Allura’s sweet brown lips, however, are drawn into a frown. Her eyebrows are scrunched together, and Coran looks equally as perplexed.

“No, I’ve never seen this happen before…” She walks towards Lance and inspects his face, grabbing his chin. Their close proximity makes Lance want to cry at the lost pickup line opportunity, but he remains still, allowing her to look into his eyes and search for anything amiss. “Of course, symptoms can be different for everyone, and chances are they affect humans differently than Alteans,” she straightens and puts her hands on her sides, drumming her fingers against her hip bones in thought. 

“Do you remember having any similar symptoms from after the crystal bomb?” Coran asks, pushing his face close to Lance’s this time, so he gets to see more of the orange mustache than he ever thought he would. 

_ No,  _ Lance tries, then catches himself and shakes his head instead. 

“Yeah, I’m pretty sure he was babbling deliriously to us from the second he got out of the pod,” Pidge adds as Coran too pulls away, twirling his mustache curiously. Lance scowls at them but it’s halfhearted. 

“D...dall? Sock? Hot?” Shiro says, and all eyes turn towards him and Keith. Shiro looks confused and a little scared as Keith grips his shoulders and mouths something aggressively. He’s bent over slightly, leaning on Shiro because he still can’t stand fully by himself, and the taller man is wincing with every violent attempt Keith makes at communication, looking as if he’d love nothing more than to step away for a few seconds and breathe.

“Yeah, Keith, we got the salts, don’t worry. We weren’t too far once you guys had to go and fucking blow it over a stupid argument about mufflers,” Pidge chimes in, looking mildly irritated but mostly tired. Lance glares at them, channeling the word  _ betrayal  _ with every photon of his mental ion cannon. Pidge, unfortunately, appears unfazed. 

“Oh,  _ salts.  _ Yeah, we got ‘em. After checking to make sure your vitals were all in check we managed to balance you two on top of the bags so it wasn’t a problem transporting all of us safely out of the Hushgroves with the salts.” Shiro explains, and Lance giggles at the mental image of two unconscious teenagers floating precariously through a forest on top of bags of salt.

“Woah, Lance, buddy, you good?” Hunk asks, peering at him with concern in his brown eyes. Lance looks up, confused. “Wait, were you just… laughing? Why can’t we hear that either? Wait, hold on,” Hunk questions, then holds up a hand and listens closely for a moments before panic fills his features. “Guys, oh God, I can’t hear breathing, he’s not breathing, I don’t remember CPR, I slept through the class, who knows CPR? Is there an AED aboard?” Hunk says frantically.

“Hunk, calm down! They’re breathing, we just can’t hear it, which is… odd, to say the least.” Shiro soothes, and Hunk’s shoulders lose a small amount of tension, but he still feels jittery. What  _ happened?  _ Lance has lost his voice plenty of times, whether it be to sickness or the night after a bangin’ concert, he knows how it feels. What he doesn’t understand is why he can’t even hear himself swallow, or cough or breathe or grunt. Previously he’d gotten by with whispers, but after a quick test,  _ nope, _ whispering doesn’t work either. 

It’s official, Lance is soundless.  And so, it seems, is Keith. If it has something to do with the blue dust, Lance wonders why. He’s almost 100% positive that he pushed Keith clear of the spray, but maybe it carries more than he thought? What a shitty heroic moment, pushing someone clear of fire only to have it kill you both. Now he’s soundless  _ and  _ grumpy. 

“Well, whatever it is, I suggest we sleep on it. I’m exhausted,” Pidge says, yawning so widely that tears come to their eyes. Hunk nods, and Lance doesn’t have it in him to try to protest. He’s just been sleeping in a frozen coma and now he can’t talk. He isn’t fucking tired! But the rest of the team has just been jarringly awoken from sleep, and as much as Lance wants to try to find a cure to this silent predicament, he’d rather make sure his team is doing okay first. 

“Come on buddy, I’ll help you to your room,” Hunk says soothingly to Lance, who gratefully melts into the larger boy’s warm embrace. Hunk is like a warm, cozy rock that could either cuddle you or crush your skull between two fingers, and Lance feels another wave of gratitude wash over him as Hunk basically carries him to his room. Sure, Lance is wide awake, but he’s still a little weak from the pod. Hunk’s superhuman strength sure comes in handy.

With a loud yawn that overtakes his entire face, Hunk settles Lance comfortably in his bed. Then, with a little wave, he steps away towards the door.

“Don’t worry buddy. We’ll figure this out,” he says with a smile. 

Lance returns it, but lets it fall the second the door is shut. 

**Author's Note:**

> come say hi on tumblr!  
> http://wesurecara.tumblr.com/
> 
> if you like my work, consider donating to my ko-fi!  
> https://ko-fi.com/wecara


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